•(}.' y<^ 






.V^. 



-'^'^. 








4 o 















\ 




y^ 








o „ o ' ^ V^ 



o. *.,,•' aO 



















■' •^^^*' 






^^-n^. 



J. 




















.^ '^iT'^ 




ALBERT S. PEASE 



ALBERT S. PEASE 

SELECTIONS FROM HIS POEMS 
WITH AN 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

AND A 
GENEALOGY OF HIS DESCENDANTS 



JAMES T. WHITE & CO. 

NEW YORK 

1915 






JAMES T.WHITE & COMPANY 
Set up and printed, June, 1915 



lil* 



DEC 31 1915 



DEDICATION 

IX LOVING MEMORY OF FATHER, 

MOTHER AND HOME, THIS BOOK IS 

DEDICATED BY THE CHILDREN OF 

ITS AUTHOR 



CONTENTS 

PA<1K 

Dedication iii 

Introduction vii 

Portrait of Albert S. Pease frontispiece 



EARLIER POEMS 

The Negro's Appeal 1-2 

Lovers 3 

Good-Bye 4 

Atlantic Cable 5-8 

The Coming Man 9-15 

Portrait of Albert Irving Pease facing page 16 

My Boy 16-17 

The Years 18-19 

The New Year 20-21 

New Year Thoughts 22-23 

Time 24 

Spring 25 

Dirge on Death of James S. Thorn 26 

Tribute to General Winfield Scott 27-28 

POEMS OF MIDDLE LIFE 

Invocation to Santa Claus 29 

Santa Claus Interviewed 30-31 

The Summer is Passing Away 32-33 

Learning to Skate 34 

The Farmer 35-36 



vi CONTENTS 

\'M.\V. 

Why People Go to Church 37-38 

The Workman's Saturday Night 39 

My Kingdom 40 

The Philosophy of Doubt 41 

Seeking and Finding 42-43 

The Giver and the Gift 44 

Nothing to Read 45-47 

Heart Fancies: My Bird; My Rose; My Star. . .48-49 

The Dressmaker 50-51 

Inspiration 52 

Dawn 52 

The Public Schools 53-55 

The School and the Man 56-58 

ADVERTISING POEMS 

Oyster Verses 59-62 

Troche Verses 63-66 

POEMS OF LATER LIFE 

The Power of the Press 67-69 

Lenten Consolations 70 

Portrait of Sarah E. Denton Pease. . . .facing 'page 71 

To Her Portrait 71-72 

At Fourscore Years 73-74 

Autobiography 75-89 

Portrait of Sophie June Pease facing page 88 

Press Notices 91-92 

Genealogy 93-95 



INTRODUCTION 

After the death of Albert S. Pease, his 
MSS were handed to his surviving chil- 
dren. Too bulky for publication in 
their entirety, they have been carefully 
edited. Many of the poems have been 
omitted ; others have been condensed or 
re-arranged. The Autobiography has 
been somewhat expanded. For the con- 
venience of his survivors and their chil- 
dren the Genealogy has been added. We 
trust that what is here put forth may 
prove of permanent value and may bring 
pleasant and grateful memories to many 
friends. 



SELECTIONS FROM THE 

POEMS 

OF 

ALBERT S. PEASE 



EARLIER POEMS 



THE NEGRO'S APPEAL 
Poughkeepsie, December 13, 1848 

Say, why am I hooted and shunned 

As I peacefully journey along? 
God knows I am wretched enough— 

To the African race I belong. 
It's a stigma I never can 'scape, — 

AVhy 'tis so I can not divine. 
Yet men in their ignorance make 

My complexion a heinous crime. 

Can it be that I'm different made 
From the rest of the human race? 

Are these not humanity's tears 
That stand on my ebony face? 

Tears forced from a natural eye, 
Placed there by a hand Divine, 

Human heart and feeling imply- 
Say, what is my heinous crime? 

I can hate, and despise, and love; 

I can cheat, I can lie, and steal ; 
Can sincere, or a hypocrite prove— 

These things, that I'm human, reveal. 
I try to be happy and good, 

To do right does my heart incline, 
Yet I'm hated, suspected, despised— 

Say, what is my heinous crime? 

Have I wronged the least child in the world? 

Have I scorned the advice of men? 
Have I treacherous proven, and vile? 



TEE NEGBO'S APPEAL 

If SO, oh! when— tell me, when? 

I faithfully toil for my bread, 
I provide for myself and mine; 

By the hand of industry they're fed- 
Then, what is my heinous crime? 

Why should I be scorned and abused 

For that which I can not control? 
Their words do not stop at my heart, 

They stab to the depths of my soul, 
Till I'm forced to complain of my lot, 

And to curse the unhappy design 
That showed me this wilderness spot, 

Where to differ is counted a crime. 

But I trust I shall finally rest 

From the trials I have to endure. 

And accept from my Maker the test 
That can joys everlasting secure. 

Still I'll look with a pitying eye 

Upon those who scoffed at me in Time, 

And bid them this fact to descry- 
That in heaven, to differ 's no crime. 



LOVERS 

Over and over and over, 

This question I wonld define, 
How to be worthy lover 

Of a love so large as mine? 

Over and over and over : 

"What raptures of joy and pride! 

I am an accepted lover! 
My love is to be my bride ! 

Love and lover, lover and loved; 

There is no grief nor gloom ; 
Life and death, death and life— 

Love shall forever bloom. 

"I love you." Are these words old? 

Old or young, they are true; 
This beautiful song will ever be sung— 
"The world grows old, but lovers are young,'' 
And ever this rapturing truth will be told — 

This wonderful ' ' I love vou ! " 



GOOD-BYE 

deep, broad word ! ye are 

A treacherous sea 
That intervenes betwixt 

My Love and me. 

With outstretched arms, I stand 

Upon the shore, 
There is no favoring gale 

To bear me o'er. 

The crested billows hide 

My Love from me, 
And all my birds of hope 

Fly out to sea. 

The raging storm roars out, 

0, wild and high ! 
With laugh, and taunt, and shout, 

"Good-bye!" "Good-bye!" 

The higher-dashing waves 

My faith defy. 
And drown within my soul 

The unuttered cry. 

The angry winds abate, 

The sea is fair ; — 
Good-bye has turned to fate, 

Love to despair. 



THE ATLANTIC CABLE 

(On the evening of August 18, 1858, a great meeting was 
held in the Universalist church, on Cannon Street, Pough- 
keepsie, to celebrate the completion of the laying of the 
Atlantic Cable, and to do honor to its originator, S. F. B. 
Morse. Mayor Charles W. Swift presided at the meeting. The 
following was the programme: Historical Sketch of Tele- 
graphy, by Benson J. Lossing; Address by Judge Gilbert 
Dean; Poem, by A. S. Pease; Address, by Prof. Henry, of 
Smithsonian Institute; Address, by Hon. John Thompson. 
The following are selected passages from this poem, which is 
too long to admit of publishing in full.) 

The world grows wiser, better, every day, 

De.spite what pessimistic doubters say. 

Love, Peace, Truth, Liberty, best trace 

The real progress of the human race. 

All systems serve the future best in their decay; 

Palingenesis o'er the earth has sway. 

There are no limitations that can bind 

Eternal spirit nor immortal mind. 

Infinite mind, in infinite display, 

Is the true secret of Creation's way. 

God's thoughts are things, the fiats of his will. 

Which Man, God's likeness, supplements with skill. 

Things, thoughts of God, are his benignant plan 

In full provision of the needs of Man. 

The will of God (impossible to verse). 

Is perfect law, throughout the universe. 



The mind, 0, giant power, unchained and free, 
How long had been thy sad captivity ! 
Hindered by ignorance, slave of sin and sense, 
Helpless to aspire, or to make defense 
Against the assaults of error, superstition, 

5 



6 THE ATLANTIC CABLE 

God pitied thee in thy supine condition, 

And thou wert startled from thy long disgrace 

To make endeavor and regain the place 

From whence ye fell, and where ye maj^ survey 

The wonders of the universe in their display, 

And comprehending facts, and tracing forces 

Through mazy paths, investigate their sources. 

Defy their terrors, vanquish them in fight, 

And make them helpers to promote the right ; 

Weigh worlds, mark distances, and sweep 

Time's cobwebs from the caverns of the deep; 

Clutch the mad lightning from the fretted sky, 

Command it at thy stern behest to hie 

And do thy bidding, though it be to flee 

From continent to continent beneath the surging sea. 

Now education, science, skill and art, 

From earth and air their mysteries impart 

To aid investigation, and to find 

Endeavors worthy of immortal mind ; 

Mountains are leveled, light is closely scanned, 

Lightning arrested, mighty projects planned 

Which take within the scope of their embrace 

Not men, nor nations, but the human race ; 

While subtle skill and daring enterprise 

Essay their conquests to the very skies ; 

Or, bending from such lofty heights to ocean. 

Where tempests lash its waves to wild commotion, 

By energy and perseverance led 

Grade mind's great highway o'er its mighty bed. 

0, wondrous miracle of human thought ! 

Two worlds thus into close communion brought ! 

Two nations, erst engaged in horrid war. 

Now clasping hands, in peace, from shore to shore ! 

Sheathed be the dagger ; dipped no more in blood 



TEE ATLANTIC CABLE \ 

The pen Avhich doth their history record; 
O'er all the earth let Love her sway extend, 
Oppression cease, and superstition end, 
And truth, obscured by error's hindering night, 
Shine forth, reflecting Christ's revealing light; 
Open the prison doors, the bound release ; 
These are thy blessed victories, Peace. 

I cannot close this celebration song, 

Although 'tis now Atlantic cable long, 

Without brief mention, which you will endorse, 

Of our loved townsman, Samuel F. B. Morse. 

A Christian gentleman, of modest mien, 

He occupies a throne, this hour, I ween, 

Far more exalted than old England's queen; 

Swaying no scepter from the kingly place, 

His loyal subjects are the human race ; 

Has he no need in princely state to move, 

His palace royal is a nation 's love ; 

His empire boundless space, where minds converse 

"With the great forces of the universe ; 

No royal title could enhance his worth, 

No braying trumpet sound his praises forth. 

Seeks he for neither wealth, nor power, nor fame, 

These be but shadows that pursue his name, 

And yet, to be the man he is today 

How many kings might cast their crowns away. 

Honor to those whose persevering toil 

Nor winds, nor waves, nor man's contempt could foil 

AVho battled bravely, planned and waited till 

The subtle lightning yielded to their will. 

To Franklin, Morse, Field, Taylor, Cooper, all 

AVho heard and heeded, and obeyed the call 

Of destiny and science, learning, art. 

Speaking in urgent whispers to the heart. 



8 THE ATLANTIC CABLE 

Honor I say, to all who bore a hand 
To stretch this mighty cord from land to land; 
Praise to the mind whose lofty vision scanned, 
Praise to the genius the great project planned, 
Praise to the purpose that was not defeated, 
Praise to the wondrous work that's been completed. 
O'er all the earth build monuments sublime, 
Broad at their base and durable as time, 
To bear these names, that ages yet to be 
May read the record of the deeds we see ; 
Long live these names in hist'ry and in story, — 
But unto God, the Lord, be all the glory. 



THE COMING MAN 

This poem, here revised and greatly abridged, was read 
at a public meeting of the Philomathean Society, held at 
the Universalist Church, on Cannon Street, Poughkeepsie, 
June 18, 1858. The Society was composed of members of 
the State and National Law School, where the writer was 
a student. (See Biographical sketch.) 

Is human life but folly? 

But a time for fun? 
Is there nothing solid? 

Is the race we run 
But a quest for pleasure, . 

But a chase for gain? 
Is existence but a bubble? 

Is all endeavor vain? 
Are the votarie.s of fashion. 

The boasting charlatan, 
The nabob and empiric 

The highest style of man? 

Shall man's human nature 

Ever be depraved? 
From the wreck of Eden 

Was there nothing saved? 
From the vale of sorrow, 

In the darkened skies. 
Will no power rescue, 

Will no light arise? 



Piercing through the darkness 
Of the world's long night, 
Saw ye not the glimmer 
9 



10 THE COMING MAN 

Of the coming light? 
Flickering like a beacon 

In the East at play, 
Dancing in the portals 

Of the rising day? 

While a wail of sorrow, 
As of nature sighing. 

Falls upon the ear— 
"Humanity is dying!" 

Heard ye not the music 

Of the singing spheres, 
Jubilant that mercy 

Pleads for man in tears? 
Hear ye not the shout 

From generations graved, 
And from Redemption's voice, 

' ' Humanity is saved ! ' ' 

Glancing up the future. 

See ye not unfurled 
Hope's inspiring rainbow 

Arching o'er the world? 
Through the gorgeous portals— 

Equal to its span— 
Christ-like in his bearing. 

Moves the Coming Man. 



Learning, Love, and Science 

Feed man's craving mind, 
Nature's subtle forces 

Serve him, unconfined; 
From the thrall of error 

Freedom has been wrought, 
And the world is conquered 

By the power of thought. 



I 



THE COMING MAN n 

The Sons of Toil, 
Delving in virgin soil. 
Reap harvests from the boundless fields 
AYhere Nature yields 
Her stores, 
Her ores, 
Her luscious fruits, 
Her health-restoring roots, 
Her priceless gems 
To glisten in the diadems of kings. 
And the Sea, 
Restless and free. 
Yields up the secrets of its deep 
And flowing tides, 
Wherein resides 
A force gigantic, until now asleep ; 
And the viewless air. 

And threatening thunder cloud 
Their mysteries declare 

In voices loud. 
These, at Man's behest, 
Do carry his request. 
Affrighted, 
Through the rolling, restless, seething Sea. 

The Sons of Toil 
No longer may recoil 
From mysteries 
Like these. 
But with the gra.sp of mind, 

May bind 
The forces of earth, air, and sea; 
And every creature 
In the whole creation 
Takes its station, 
Subject to man's control. 



12 THE COMING MAN 

And yet, God! the Soul, 
Burdened with crushing fears 

Of endless years 
Of sorrow and distress. 
And woe remediless — ! 
Can there be no release 

From death eternal, 

And no surcease 
Of tendencies infernal? 



The Votary of Art, 
Toiling to impart 
To stone or scroll 
Something of the thought 
By genius wrought 
In the laboratory of the soul, 
Bends all the energies of mind 
To find 
The perfect mould 

To hold 
The beauteous image which the will 
Would fill 
With life, and grace, and power- 
But the fashion of his image falls below 

The perfect forms that through his being flow. 



The Student 
Contemplating from the past afar 
The mysteries and purposes of war, 
The rise of nations, 
Their decline, and fall. 
The prophecies of poet. 

The deeds heroic 
Of warrior and reformer, 
Statesman and martyr, — 
By History's glimmering ray 



TBE COMING MAN J 3 

Traces the tortuous way 
That Man has trod 
In quest of Truth, and Harmony, and God. 

Or as he seeks to trace Creation's laws, 

Soiindino: the purposes and plans of the First Cause 

Of all that is or shall be, 
Scanning the omnipotence of God, and his Eternity ; 

Or searching with the torch of Truth 
The deep recesses of mysteries abstruse, 

Discerns by Revelation's light. 
How the smitten soul may take its flight 
Through the immensity of doubt and night 
Back to Divinity. 



From the Sacrificial Altar, 
From the many faiths that falter, 
From the beacon light we see 
Beaming forth from Calvary, 
From the grave where Jesus wept. 
From the tomb Avhere Jesus slept. 
From the universal sighing 
When the Son of J\lan was dying, 
From the Alleluyahs yet 
Heard to ring from Olivet, 
From the martyr and apostle. 
From the pages of the Gospel, 
From the hero and the sage, 
From the good of every age. 
Come there voices as of Angel, 
Bringing man the grand Evangel 
That there is from death exemption. 
That there is for man redemption. 

* * * * The soul shall see 
Prophetic dreams of what shall be:- 



14 TEE COMING MAN 

Nor war, nor cruelty, nor strife 

Shall mar the dignity of life, 

Nor shackles of Oppression bind. 

Nor Error chain the human mind. 

Nor greed of gold the powers employ. 

Nor thirst for fame the heart destroy, 

Nor Bacchanalian drown the soul 

In dissipation's damning bowl, 

Nor servile multitudes applaud 

The workers of successful fraud. 

Nor Ignorance, nor Vice, nor Crime 

On crimson couch of ease recline, 

Nor Poverty a curse shall be, 

Nor Toil a mark of infamy. 

But he shall be most truly great 

Whose tutored genius can create 

Great thoughts, new beauties, pure desires, 

Adding his Vestal to the fires 

That light the darkness— 

That all the waiting world may scan 

The highway of the Coming Man. 

The Coming Man, whose constant thought 
Shall be with Peace and Virtue fraught, 
"Whose mind shall clutch with giant grasp 
And conquer and improve the Past, 
Wrest from the hand of Fate the rod. 
And be, and live, a child of God. 

The Coming Man, whose lofty soul 

Shall comprehend the mighty whole 

Of Revelation's perfect plan, 

To rescue, save, ennoble man, 

And change his fear of death infernal 

To faith in God, and Life Eternal. 



THE COMING MAN 15 

The Coming Man, whose faith shall see, 

The Christ that was, is, is to be : 

Who, drinking from the fount of Truth, 

Shall live in everlasting youth. 

And thrill in every nerve that he 

Is heir to immortality. 

Heaven speed the day, strive every one who can 
To introduce God's perfect Coming Man. 



MY BOY 

Written on the death of Albert Irving Pease, November 
12, 1857, aged 2 years and 10 months. This is reminiscent 
of the father's game of hide and seek with his baby. 

What time my yearning heart 

Brooded with joy 
Over a precious child — 

A noble boy. 

Death saw the "sunbeam" 

From heaven astray, 
And wanting the treasure, 

Snatched it away. 

Starless grew the night ; 

Had the day no sun ; 
O'er all the flowers 

Black shadows hung. 

And midst the darkness. 

In accents wild, 
A voice, constant crying, 

"My child! My child!" 

While ever an answer, 

Gleesome and clear, 
Comes out from the darkness — 

'^ Father, I'm here." 

And the old enjoyment 

Comes back anew— 
When hearing his laughter, 

Hidden from view. 
i6 




ALBEBT lEriNG PEASE 



MY BOY 17 

And I think to see him 

In great delight, 
Bound from his covert, 

And burst on my sight. 

Thus, years I've waited— 

Waited in pain — 
But the blessed "Sunbeam" 

Comes not again. 

Still those thrilling accents 

Burst on my ear, 
From out the darkness, 

"Father, I'm here!" 

"Where, child, where art thou? 

Say where thou art!" 
"Here, Father! don't you feel me? 

Here, in your heart!" 



THE YEARS 

Years are swiftly passing by: 
As a swallow swift they fly. 
Slow they pass when childhood's days 
Have no other thought than plays; 
Tardily they lag, forsooth, 
To impatient, hopeful youth; 
Steadily and grand they roll 
To the man's impassioned soul, 
Full of life, and thought, and power, 
Bursting bud, and blooming flower. 
But as age comes tottering on 
Galloping they dash along. 
Always briefer, quicker growing; 
Always deeper, faster flowing; 
'Till the man in his frail bark, 
Distant and more distant seems 
From the fairy-land of dreams: 
Soon we lose him in the dark. 



Years are mile-stones on the way; 

Records only of the Past. 
How much farther is the road? 

"Whither tending? 

Where has ending? 
None may know, for none have trod. 

Gain we nought by pushing fast ; 
Save we nought by timid stay. 

0, the years! the blessed years! 
Full of hope, and full of grief; 
Full of sorrow, full of fears, 



TEE YEABS 19 

Full of laughter and of tears,— 
Long to youth, to age how brief 
Are the fleeting, blessed years! 

Years are rivulets that flow 

Down the mountain-heights of time: 
Sparkling, swelling, placid, deep. 
Swiftly flowing, with a sweep 
Restless and resistless ever; 
Always flowing, sluggish never; 
To the earnest soul, sublime; 
To the indolent, how slow! 

! the years ! the great, grand years ! 
How they sweep, and how they sway! 
How majestically roll, 
To the vision of the soul, 
O'er Time's wonderful highway. 
The revolving, rapid years! 



THE NEW YEAR 

'Neath a coverlet of snow, 

Nature drear and stiff is lying, 
While the consummated year 

On a couch of ice, is dying. 

Over all her prostrate form 

Chilling, freezing winds are blowing; 
Underneath increasing ice 

Sluggish tides of life are flowing. 

Youth and hope and friends have perished; 

Life and fortune all have fled; 
And the solemn bell at midnight 

Dismal tolls: ''The year is dead!" 

Hark ! a cry, as infant wailing, 

Sounds from out the bells that ring; 

Hark ! a shout, as nations hailing 

Pull of hope, their new-crowned King. 

See, he comes ! the youthful monarch ! 

Health and promise in his form; 
Heeds he not the shouts of welcome, 

Heeds he not the howling storm. 

Underneath his feet are springing 

Grass and grain, and fruit and flowers ; 

In his train are servants bringing 
Choirs of birds and summer showers. 

On his brow is firmly sitting 

Hope 's eternal, golden crown ; 
And above him, angels flitting. 

Pour celestial music down. 



THE NEW YEAR 21 

Music thrilling all the nations; 

Whispering in each ear of peace; 
Nerving all to fill their stations, 

Hoping for old wrongs to cease. 

Give the youthful monarch welcome! 

Hail his coming! with a cheer 
Pull and fi-ee and long and hearty 

Welccnne in the Neiv-hom Year. 



NEW YEAR THOUGHTS 

How the years go flitting by ! 

Time delays not in his stage ; 
Loiters not at laugh or sigh ; 

Heeds not infancy nor age. 

Neither do our lives delay; 

Travel we as fast as time ; 
We are children "out at play," 

And we startle at the chime— 

Of the solemn swaying bell, 
Marking the departed year ; 

With its thought-compelling knell 
Calling us from joy to fear. 

All the future of our lives 
We may render good or ill ; 

Not Eternihj, but NOW 

Sends the soul to Heaven or Hell. 

Would we look for futures good? 

We must well improve our time ; 
Would we reap Eternal life, 

We must make this life sublime. 

Then mourn not departed years, 
Nor this present age deplore ; 

But with higher aim resolve 
To obtain the good in store. 

For the honest, earnest soul, 
Profiting by every rod, 



NEW YEAR THOU GETS 23 

Struggling to be free from death, 

Struggling up toward Truth and God. 

Hopes reach farther than remembrance, 

Rising suns long shadows cast ; 
Somewhere in the great hereafter 

We shall overtake the past. 

What the witness it shall bear us, 

What deceptions sweep away, 
What approve by testimony. 

Let each ask himself today. 

By our thoughts our souls are fashioned ; 

By our lives and by our faith 
We are heirs of life immortal, 

Or of everlasting death. 

From effect there's no escaping; 

Compensation, just and stern. 
With a judgment never erring. 

Pays the wages that we earn. 

So the world, where nations warring, 
In red blood their triumphs steeping. 

Takes and yields in due proportion. 
Giving for each sowing, reaping. 

Fate is not a hard task-master. 
Reaping where he has not strown. 

Vain to seek bread-yielding harvests 
Where no cereals are sown. 

Fate is but the consummation 

Of the life work of the soul ; 
Dread it not, nor shrink with horror, 

'Tis our being's perfect whole. 



TIME 

Time is no spendthrift. Men alone do waste 
The patient years, the fleeting hours, in haste 
To chase and clutch at Fortune's flaunting gown. 
Reckless that each soul heir is to a crown, 
Man dissolutes his powers, and prefers 
Gold to the dignity which Heaven confers; 
Tames his great spirit like a brute, to crouch 
At death and fate ; and drags him to the tomb, 
Whining and fearful of a self-earned doom. 

Events are not of Time; they only trace 
The steady progress of the human race 
Upon the records of the rolling years. 
No least transaction ever disappears 
From off the pages of the past, but flows 
Adown the ages, as the metal glows 
Upon its passage to the pattern made to hold 
The perfect image which the master-mind would 
mould. 

Time serves, not sits in judgment over man. 

Time has no power futurity to scan. 

'Tis but a sea, with rapid flowing tide, 

Upon whose bosom myriad vessels glide. 

Borne by the wafting winds and rolling waves 

To noble harbors, or ignoble graves. 

The calms are treacherous, and the storms are dark, 

Steer well, pilot, lest thou strand thy bark. 



24 



SPRING 

Each spring is a new creation ; 
Ever the uttered word— 

The ''Let there be" of Jehovah- 
Plain to the sense is heard. 

If you listen you'll hear the rustle 
Of life 'neath the wasting snow ; 

If you pause you will sense the pulses 
Of streams in their swelling flow. 

Warm in the lap of nature. 

The dear old mother earth, 
Are myriads of fairy creatures 

Waiting the hour of birth. 

The clouds are swelling to bursting 
With warm and mellowing showers; 

From garden and valley are wafted 
Odors of op'ning flowers. 

A sense of the coming gladness 
The hearts of the children thrills, 

And warmth, like a benediction. 
Over the earth distills. 

Each .spring is a new creation ; 

Ever the uttered word— 
The "Let there be" of Jehovah— 

Plain to the sense is heard. 



25 



A DIRGE 

Written in 1866, on the death of the Hon. James S. TJiorn. 

Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! 
The living spirit sped. 
How could it be, that he, so loved of all. 
From such young life, and such bright hopes, should 
fall? 

Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! 

The cheering presence fled. 
Oh, Death, thou art so cruel and so bokl ! 
Oh, Grave, thou art so dismal and so cold ! 

Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! 

From off a weary bed 
Bear gently— gently bear him to the tomb; 
Our tears, our love, will mitigate its gloom. 

Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! 

Pillow the weary head 
Upon thy bosom. Mother Earth. Thy child 
Was noble, modest, truthful, proud and mild. 

Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! 

Above his grave will spread 
Dead leaves, as emblems of his life so brief; 
Cold snows, as emblems of our hearts' great grief; 
To deck his grave will fall warm summer showers ; 
So, sorrow's tears shall call forth memory's flowers. 



26 



TRIBUTE TO GEN. WINFIKLD SCOTT 

Delivered at a memorial meeting, held at the Court 
House, Troy, N. Y., June 1, 1866. 

The noble Hudson leaves its rock-bound shore, 
And flows with current dark and deep and still ; 

And as the shades of evening sombre lower, 
Reflects with pride each towering clifi: and hill. 

Among the Highlands, as it wends its way 

Around West Point, it eddies swift and strong, 

And tarries there, like children fond of play, 
About a spot full rich in deed and song. 

High on those banks are citadel and tower. 

And ancient trees outspreading, wide and tall, 

And stately dome, and guns that speak with power, 
And shot, and shell, and pyramids of ball. 

And higher yet doth old Fort Putnam rest. 
With age and storm and recollections brown ; 

And like a monarch of a glorious past, 

From off a rock-firm seat, looks calmly down. 

Looks down upon such deeds as made us free ; 

Looks down upon such men as gave us fame ; 
Looks down upon a land from sea to sea 

The home of freedom. Here our warrior came. 

Large-framed and kingly, enervate from strife. 
With heart that throbbed with sympathy, through 
wrong. 
With heart that loved his country as his life, 
And purpose stronger than his frame was strong. 
27 



28 TEIBUTE TO GEN. WINFIELD SCOTT 

Here, after fifty years of toil and war, 
And victory won, and battle seldom lost; 

Here, when the labors of his life were o'er, 
He waited patient, at his duty's post. 

Here died he, as the great and good sho-uld die. 
As thongh God's special herald called him hence; 

And here his noble form at rest shall lie. 
His fame surviving, as his recompense. 

A faithful herald of an old king cried, 

When he had told him "Tell the dead I come," 

' ' Ye dead, my master comes ! ' ' and instant died, 
And sped his soul, to make his master room. 

So cries a herald from each heart to-night. 
To all those slain our hero loved so well, 

Who heard his voice, obeyed him in the fight, 
And at his bidding bravelv fought and fell. 



The place that once was hallowed by the feet of 

Washington ; 
The place where died our hero, when his noble life 

was done ; 
And from whence our later chieftains gathered wis- 
dom for the fray 
That has left its scars and furrows on the features of 

today. 
Shall a Mecca be, forever ; and posterity will turn 
To add its meed of praises— while the vestal fires burn 
On the altar of our country— bowing reverent at the 

spot 
Where repose the honored ashes of the loved and noble 

Scott ; 
For the wreaths which pressed his temples clothed a 

nation with renown, 
And he wore his laurels nobly, as a king might wear 

a crown. 



POEMS OF MIDDLE LIFE 



INVOCATION TO SANTA CLAUS 

Dear Santa Glaus, on good deeds bent, 
Bring to the world love, peace, content, 
And glow all hearts with Christmas cheer 
To ero\vii the closing of the year. 

In the dear sacred, holy name 
To all mankind this truth proclaim : 
All gifts are adequately priced 
If given in the name of Christ. 

Bring health and happiness and joys 
To men and women, girls and boys. 
And cheer, contentment, grace, and bounty 
To every household in the county. 

Make all the nations glad to hear, 
With pure desire, and willing ear, 
That living benediction still : 
"On earth be peace, to men good will." 

Dear Santa Claus, on good deeds bent, 
Bring to the world love, peace, content; 
That every land may feel and see 
The Christ that was— is— is to be. 



29 



SANTA GLAUS INTERVIEWED 

Dear Santa Glaus, so near— so far- 
Please pause, and tell us who you are. 
We know your name, but can not tell 
From whence you come, or where you dwell, 
Nor how you look, nor yet your age. 
Nor why in good deeds you engage. 

Santa Glaus: 

I'm older, you may safely say. 
Much older than Methuselah. 
The King of Salem, as appears. 
Was sovereign for unmentioned years. 
His reign had end as "King of Peace," 
My reign of love shall never cease. 
And then you question who I am ? 
I am not woman, child, nor man. 
To tell you just the very truth. 
My age is never-ceasing youth. 
Some think me old and worn and gray ; 
"Old Santa Glaus," the children say. 
But still of me they have no fears. 
If ever children shed sad tears. 
It is when "Santa" does not come 
With Ghristmas presents to their home. 
Just who I am I may not tell; 
Some time the world shall know me well. 
And know my kindred, too; we three — 
Love, Joy, and Peace — we brothers be ; 
We three are one, there is no other; 
And of the three, I'm elder brother. 
You wish to know, too, where I dwell? 
30 



SANTA CLAUS INTERVIEW EL 31 

Yon, better than myself, can tell. 
Ask of yonr heart ; if anywhere 
Yon search to find me, find me there. 

I am as snbtle as a thonght ; 

I can't be seen; I may be canght; 

I am not here, I am not there, 

I'm there, and here, and everywhere. 

I'm in the dark, I'm in the light; 

The shadows that I cast are bright ; 

AVhere'er a heart is eased from care 

It is because I tarry there. 

My bosom thrills with ecstacy 

When loving hearts respond to me. 

You certainly should know me now, because 
I've told you who I am— I'm Santa Clans. 



THE SUMMER IS PASSING AWAY 

The summer is passing away; 
The flowers are drooping and dying; 
The apple trees bend with their fruit; 

The elves in the corn are at play; 
While a voice through the trellis is sighing, 

"The summer is passing away." 

The summer is passing away. 
The birds have forsaken their young ; 
The robin still chirps near the door ; 

The bobolink lengthens his stay, 
But I hear only this in their song: 

''The summer is passing away." 

The summer is passing away. 
The sunshine falls thin on the grass; 
The night dews are heavy and dank; 

The forest trees solemnly say. 
And the rivulets murmur, ' ' Alas ! 

The summer is passing away." 

The summer is passing away: 
And the thought to the senses is sad. 
But the orchard trees bend with their fruit, 
And the elves in the corn are at play. 
And the heart of the reaper is glad 

That the summer is passing away. 



Life's summer is passing away. 
The visions of childhood are fled; 
The senses are blunted by age; 
32 



TEE SUMMER IS PASSING AWAY 33 

The raven locks turning to gray ; 
The friends of our infancy dead- 
Life's summer is passing away. 

"Life's summer is passing away," 
Is whispered by heavenly voices. 
But with hope, labor, patience, and faith, 

Having toiled through the heat of the day, 
The soul of the Christian rejoices 

That life's summer passes away. 



LEARNING TO SKATE 

Is any one disposed to learn 
This art for which so many yearn? 
Stand up erect ; the ankles stiffen ; 
Surcease your clinging, screaming, laughing, 
And with a proud, defiant air, 
Strike bravely out, now here — now there — 
Right— left— right— left— but not so wide; 
Now stand erect, and swiftly glide, 
And, without aid of friend or lover, 
Your equilibrium recover. 
Now, try again : now ! this way— that way— 
This way— that way— this way— that way! 
Let the arms swing free and easy ; 
Never mind the air so breezy. 
In its breath is health and life, 
In your form the future wife 
Of some delighted, loving beau. 
Watching you, as swift you go 
Over the ice, a very queen 
Of grace and beauty. But I ween 
That now and then you'll get a fall- 
Dress, petticoats, head, heels and all, 
In quite an interesting "muss." 
But never mind, don't make a fuss. 
E'en though you hear from two or three: 
' ' How very cold the ice must be ! " 
Mind, if you are too circumspect. 
You'll never learn to stand erect. 
Or, if you slips and falLs berate, 
You'll never, never learn to skate. 



34 



THE FARMER 



Up with the sun in the morning, 

Greeted with cheers by birds, 
Brushing the dew from the grasses, 

Petting his patient herds, 

The farmer calls to his oxen, 

And without harsh word, or blow. 

They submit their huge necks to the ox yoke, 
And go with the farmer to plow. 

Greater than chariot and horses 
Crushing o'er living and slain, 

The farmer, directing his oxen. 

Goes cheerfully slow through the lane. 

Apple and cherry and peach tree 
Are banners and flags on his way ; 

Rooster and robin and raven 

To him are as trumpets that bray. 

The groves are reverberant with music, 
Spring perfumes enliven the sense ; 

The squirrels, alarmed at his coming. 
Go scamp 'ring along the rail fence. 

The farmer feels kinship with nature, 
Toil to him is no hardship nor rod, 

He joys in the dignified pleasure 
Of "working together with God." 
35 



36 THE FAEMEB 

Like a captain that plans for a conflict, 
The farmer contemplates his field: 

Loam, clay, muck, greensward, and gravel 
To his plow and his oxen must yield. 

Long, rolling and deep are the furrows, 
And they follow, like waves of the sea: 

A sailor as well as a soldier, 
A man and a hero is he. 

His share cleaves the soil like a saber. 
It is brighter than bayonet or spear, 

Deep down in the dark, among terrors. 
It thrusts, without mercj^ or fear. 

The field is subdued to his pleasure, 
The furrows lie closer than slain. 

And the farmer, through dragging and sowing. 
Has visions of acres of grain. 

The farmer has finished his plowing. 
His oxen, with low-drooping heads. 

Hot, panting, and tired from the furrow, 
Have lain themselves down 'neath the sheds. 

And the farmer, though soiled by his labor, 
Is happy, though hungry and worn ; 

He has rendered his fellows a service. 

Will bless the whole world with his corn. 



\\U\ PEOPLE GO TO CHURCH 

Lines from a poem entitled "Tlie Old Cluireh Carpet," 
which was read at a literary entertainment held in the 
First Baptist Church, Saratoga Springs, June, 1871, during 
the pastorate of the Eev. William Cheethani. 

when will pulpits learn to lay aside the "rod," 
And preach the love of Christ, and not the wrath of 

God? 

1 don 't propose to institute a search 
To ascertain why people go to church; 

Nor yet expose the thoughts that fill the head 
When hymns are sung, and earnest prayer is said ; 
Nor curse the heresies of form and creed 
^\"hen Orthodoxy can't supply the need 
Of hungry souls which starve for solid food. 

To go to church in trusting, loving mood 

Believing God is love, and guards with care 

Each human life, and be confronted there 

"With threats of ill, and everlasting woe. 

Unnerves the heart, and, as a thoughtless blow, 

Strikes down the image of the God that fills 

The mind's conception, and devotion kills. 

And dims the Christ, and makes Church Creeds to 

stand 
In place of Jesus, at the Lord's right hand. 

'Tis often said, some people go to church 
Just for a pleasant walk, and not to search 
The Holy Scriptures without thought of strife, 
Thinking therein to find eternal life; 

37 



38 WHY PEOPLE GO TO CHUECH 

That other some go there to join in talk. 
Perhaps with those who go jnst for a walk; 
That others to the house of worship wend 
Hoping thereby to gain an added friend. 
Some doubtless go in hopes to mend their ways, 
While many others do nought else but gaze 
About the church to catch the latest fashions, 
Without a thought of how to curb their passions. 
That one may go in hope to get a lover, 
And others go, thereby their faults to cover, 
Can be no doubt; and some just doze and nod. 
But all who go with pure hearts, worship God. 

If but one soul, by eye of faith may see 
The open portals of eternity, 
And rise above the things of sense and time. 
The simplest preaching then becomes sublime. 
The Christ is there to glad the saddened heart, 
Aye, God is there, his blessing to impart; 
And light breaks in upon the spirit's eyes 
And shows the way, by faith, to Paradise. 



THE WORKMAN'S SATURDAY NIGHT 

The factory whistles shrieked: ''It's six o'clock!" 
The weary workmen homeward take their way; 

Their toil is ended for another week, 

And well-filled purses hold their well-earned pay. 

A thousand fires are burning warm and bright! 

A thousand loving wives their husbands greet ; 
A thousand kettles steaming on the stoves! 

A thousand little ones with pattering feet! 

All these give Avelcome to the toil-worn men 
Who feel a pride in having done their best. 

God bless the workmen and their faithful wives; 
God bless the homes that give the weary rest. 

The clean spread table, with its pure white "plate," 
Is seldom burdened, and as seldom scant; 

A crumb, with love, exceeds a feast, with hate ; 

They hunger most whose hearts are pinched with 
want. 

The savory odors of the cooking meal 

Pervade the house, and stimulate desire. 

And soon each sense that has the power to feel. 
Enjoys the food brought steaming from the fire. 

The night falls dark and cold, the snow is deep. 
But beds are warm, and weary limbs find rest; 

Each house is still, the children sound asleep, 
The last kiss given, and the babe caressed. 

As if from altar, all alight with flame, 

An incense rises from each good deed done. 

And Heaven approves each loving heart by name, 
And on each home it showers blessings down. 
39 



MY KINGDOM 

In the far off, misty future, 
Stands a castle, large and fair; 

All its towers are tipped with silver, 
And my hopes, like guests are there. 

From it gleams the glowing glory 

Of all purity and truth, 
In its halls is heard the story 

Told by sages in their youth. 

It no "castle in the air" is. 

'Tis more tangible than dreams. 
To the soul it is more real 

Than all earthly splendor seems. 

Zealous servants guard the portals 

That no evils go therein, 
Fear, regret, nor other mortals. 

Shame, remorse, nor any sin. 

In this castle I'll be monarch: 
None shall tremble, none shall frown 

Be ye patient, my subjects, 

'Ere long I shall take the crown. 

He who reigns in such a kingdom 
In his heart no hate may bring ; 

Not until myself I govern 
Am I fit to be your king. 



40 



THE PHILOSOPHY OF DOUBT 

When man begins to doubt, 
He first begins to know; 

When zeal begins to flag, 
jNIan's faith begins to grow. 

While Error holds in ruth, 

Truth makes man wise and free, 
For Liberty is Truth, 

And Truth is Liberty. 

j\Ian struggles from his doom 

Of custom to be free ; 
The last conceded boon 

Is liberty to be. 

If man but lag behind, 

Or if he be depraved, 
How many seek to find, 

Intent that he be "saved." 

But if he go beyond. 

With honest doubt perverse, 
A thousand laggard souls 

Conspire to jeer and curse. 

Conformity is "faith." 
Compliance puts to rout 

The energy of growth, 
And smothers honest doubt. 



41 



SEEKING AND FINDING 

I sought a living name ; 

The breath the world calls fame 
Is but the fragrance of the full-blown flower ; 

It permeates the air, 

Like incense, or a prayer, 
And emblem is of weakness, as of power. 

I trod the worn highways 

Of censure and of praise; 
I faced the footlights of the world 's broad stage ; 

I felt my genius flit 

In rhapsodies of wit, 
And exit made in unapplauded rage. 

In bursts of human grief 

My spirit sought relief— 
I had no succor from the world's applause; 

My heart with pain was wrung, 

My song was still unsung, 
But high resolve was made at every pause. 

I magnified my faith, 

And chose the martyr's path; 
I purged my heart of every human love ; 

I crucified my sex 

That passion might not vex. 
Nor tempt my feet in pleasure's ways to rove. 

I shunned the social mart, 
And dwelt alone, apart ; 
My name was strange to every human tongue; 
42 



SEEKING AND FINDING 43 

Companionship was dead- 
ly thought was still unsaid ; 
The banners of my fame were still nnflung. 
********* 

The plaudits came, but late— 

They did not compensate — 
My name was loud on every human tongue; 

I'd mastered in the strife 

And struggle of my life; 
The banners of my fame were wide outflung. 

I scorned the doubting race, 

And wore upon my face 
Contempt for all who humbled at my feet; 

I reveled in my pride ; 

Myself I deified ; 
The triumph of ambition was complete. 

I gloried in To Be — 

It did not comfort me — 
The With was wanting from my soul's desire; 

I swooned upon the sod; 

I cried out after God, 
And felt self-love within my heart expire. 

On altar stairs I kneel ; 

To serve is my ideal ; 
My love embraces all who suffer wrong; 

My name is what I am ; 

My faith is faith in man, 
And life is now a soul-inspiring song. 



THE GIVER AND THE GIFT 

The giver and the gift are one ; 

I cannot think of them apart; 
The gift may be a good deed done ; 

The giver cheers and warms the heart. 

There be who tell us "Thoughts are things. 

That may be so, but this I say : 
A thing is ne'er so much our own 

As when we've given it away. 

If love be prompter, and entwine 
Itself about the thing that's given, 

'Tis then no longer thine or mine ; 

'Tis common treasure banked in heaven. 

A gift bestowed from ample store 
Is made at little seeming cost: 

A sacrifice is greatly more. 

But he who gives himself, gives most. 

wondrous love ! yearning heart 
Of God and of His gift-His Son! 

1 cannot think of them apart. 
The Giver and the Gift are One. 



44 



NOTHING TO READ 

After William Allen Butler's "Xotliing to Wear." 

"Miss Flora MeFlimsey" has "nothinsr to wear," 
And, more is the pity, her mind is as l)are 
As her beautiful body of suitable dress. 
It really is matter of gravest distress 

That, with thousands of books 

On tables, in nooks. 
And that row upon row make display of themselves 
In tier upon tier of library shelves, 
And with newspapers many a-s leavers upon trees. 
And magazines lively as hornets and bees, 

Upon whicli she may feed. 

She has nothing to read. 

The Bible, and Shakespeare, and Milton, and Scott, 
Have never been favored, or else been forgot. 
And Goethe, and Dryden, and Chaucer, and Burns, 
And Addison, Spencer, Macaulay, Avith Sterne, 

All of them and each 

Within easy reach, 
Are silently waiting, like dresses on hooks, 
(Naught so uncomplaining and patient as books), 
Each able to furnish attire most refined 
With which to adorn her dissatisfied mind. 

But still her great need 

Is of something to read. 

Of philosophy, history, science, romance. 

She has thought, in the languor which follows the 

dance, 
But for raiment so rich and so rare for her mind, 

45 



46 NOTHING TO BEAD 

She never or seldom seems wholly inclined ; 

Such heavy material, 

For one so ethereal 
Would be quite unbecoming, and too out of style. 
And make her seem dowdy — leastwise, like a prude ; 
(Better far be a weak intellectual dude 
Than a strong minded woman) ; yet once in a while 

She will earnestly plead 

For something to read. 

A novel by Hugo she seldom reads through, 
But she revels in Dumas, and dotes upon Sue ; 
The Count Monte Cristo, the Wandering Jew, 
And the stories of Zola, and Greville she knows 

From beginning to close, 

And she finds sweet repose 
For fastidious mind in such flashy attire ; 
But still she's possessed with a sometime desire 
To be clad in such elegant, wonderful dress 
Of pure intellectual marvelousness, 

If she could but succeed 

And find something to read. 

There are Ruskin, and Spencer, and Darwin, and Mill, 
And Carlyle, and Emerson, standing so still. 
And patiently waiting the silence to break. 
And, never reproving, with wisdom to speak, 

And weave a fit dress 

For her mind's nakedness; 
And Longfellow, Tennyson, Bryant, and Poe, 
The Brownings, the Careys, and Jean Ingelow, 
With jewels of rarest of rays to adorn 
The mind of the wearer, when worthily worn; 

0, it makes her heart bleed 

To have nothing to read. 



NOTHING TO READ 47 

Miss Flora McFlimsey, with classical face, 
And a form that is shaped with bewildering grace, 
From her exquisite head to her beaiitiful feet, 
^Yith all wants supplied, and a wardrobe replete 

With all garments rare, 

Has nothing to wear. 
And I\Iiss Flora McFlimsey, to genius inclined, 
AVith a really aspiring, inquisitive mind. 
Her hands within reach of a thousand best books, 
Which invite her attention from favoring nooks, 

lias nothing to read ! 

Has nothing to read ! 



HEART FANCIES 

My Bird 

0, what shall I say to my bird ! 

With notes so bewitching^ and clear. 
To the depths of pure feeling I'm stirred, 

And I halt betwixt rapture and fear. 

I will drink in the song that she sings. 
Her voice my companion shall be : 

Perhaps she will tell me: "Beware! 
My song is not uttered for thee." 

But she can not deny to my heart 

Such longings as make it repine : 
O, the song of my beautiful bird 

Forever and ever is mine. 

My Rose 

0, what shall I say to my rose ! 

My modest, sweet rose, that I prize, 
She is mute to the language of speech ; 

I will speak to my rose with my eyes. 

They shall say she is fragrant and fair, 
By June's purest breezes caressed. 

Perhaps she will tell me : " Beware 

Of the thorn that's concealed in my breast." 

But she can not deny me the grace 
Of her goodness and beauty to bless 

These eyes that have gazed on her face. 
But may not their pleasure confess. 

48 



HEART FANCIES 49 

My Star 

0, what shall I say to my star ! 
So near me. and yet so afar. 
That I only may gaze 
In bewildered amaze 
At my beautiful star. 

If she will but remain in the blue 
Of my heaven, and ever be true 
To the pledge of my hope and my soul, 
Though a life-time betwixt us should roll, 
I will wait for my star. 

Other eyes may admire her the while, 
And thrilled by her beauty, may smile : 
But I still shall believe, though I sigh, 
That there shines in the blue of my sky 
This beautiful star. 

A star whose light ever is pure, 
A love which shall ever endure, 
A hope which no promise hath riven, 
A faith that shall win me to heaven 
And give me my star. 



THE DRESSMAKER 

I can see her sitting there 

As she sews, 
With her work upon her knee, 
Attitude and action free, 
She is very fair to see, 

And she knows. 

She is modest, frank, and true, 

And a spell. 
As of sanctity and beauty. 
Seem to halo all her duty. 
But the ''burden" of her duty 

She'll not tell. 

She is braver than you think, 

Though a pain, 
With a bitter twinge and smart. 
Now were gnawing at her heart. 
She would still perform her part. 

Nor complain. 

She is nobler than you know. 

Note her face; 
As her fingers deftly fly, 
Mark the quiet of her eye, 
You shall not of smart or sigh 

See a trace. 

Or perhaps, by occult vision. 

You'll discover, 
While she stitch to stitch is linking, 
She of pleasure's cup is drinking. 
And her happy heart is thinking 

Of her lover. 
50 



TEE DRESSMAKER 51 

She puts love and faith and duty 

In each seam ; 
Pain and pleasure, hope and sorrow, 
From experience she can borrow; 
Yesterday — toda.v —tomorrow — 

Is her dream. 

More than taste and toil are woven 

In the dress; 
It will cling to who shall wear it— 
(Does not every fold declare it?) 
Like a (what a bliss to share it) 

Sweet caress. 



INSPIRATION 

As streams that rise on hillsides far away, 
And chase through fields like children out at play, 
That laugh and shout while leaping the cascade, 
Then wiser grow, and deeper, in the shade. 
But flowing still, at last flow side by side, 
Then mingle currents in one grander tide. 
So be our lives: Dear heart, made strong by ihee, 
I go forth bravely to my destiny. 



DAWN 

There is no past. What seems so is a dream ; 

Too indistinct or peace or fear to give. 
Our souls have felt the dawn's aAvakening gleam 

Now, and hereafter, be it ours to live. 



52 



THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS 

Eead at the dedication of an old gas house which was 
converted into a High School, in Saratoga Springs, N. Y., 
in 1873. 

When folks assemble with intent to reason, 
A little fiin is seldom out of season ; 
But when they meet to dedicate a place 
That's set apart to teach the human race, 
It fitting seems that each should lend a voice, 
For all who 're here most sui'ely must rejoice 
To know that children, who might else be fools. 
Are educated in our Public Schools. 

Such schools as these our fathers never knew. 

It is a wonder how their wisdom grew 

To such a grasp of liberty and life, 

And made them conquer in the noble strife 

That "tried men's souls," and, fearless of a Crown, 

Nerved earnest hearts to strike oppression down. 

And grasp the thought, and consummate the plan 

That forced concession of the rights of man. 

And yet it grew; and we who meet tonight, 

But taste the fruit e're it be fully ripe. 

For in the future there shall men arise, 

So vast in genius, and in love so wise, 

That stood they here, the latchet of their shoes 

The people of this day might not unloose. 

The Public Schools can best preserve the State, 
And make men fearless of the power of Fate, 
And make them wise. E'en now 'tis understood, 
Who would be great must first be nobly good. 

53 



54 THE PUBLIC SCUOOLS 

Pray do not think because this ugly mass 

Of brick and wood a temple was to gas, 

That learning here is charged for by the feet, or 

Education measured through a meter ; 

Or that the process calls for a retort, 

Or coal, or naptha— nothing of the sort. 

The light which henceforth from this place is sent 

Will not be turned off when the night is spent ; 

Nor bills be sent, on which you are instructed, 

If promptly paid, a tenth will be deducted. 

For minds illumined, evermore shall glow 

With warmth and light, and from such .source shall 

flow 
A stream of blessings, which, if mixed with grace, 
Shall light dark places for the human race. 
That all the weary, waiting world may scan 
The highway of the lingering coming man. 
And yet, I think, that somehow. Heaven will 
E'er long present a reasonable bill. 
Exactly when, is not for me to say; 
Perhaps 'twill be upon the Judgment Day; 
For talents are but treasure of some sort, 
And of their usage all must give report. 

That "Education forms the common mind," 
Is truth that often in the books we find. 
And quite as often this "old saw" is sent— 
"The tree's inclined just as the twig is bent." 
But in these days it is most clear forsooth 
That we've outgrown this ancient, homely truth. 
For in this world it is quite plain to see 
That earnest minds make their own destiny, 
And grow up vigorous, and straight, and tall ; 
For if man will but think and act at all. 
He'll for himself more wisely think and act 



THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS 55 

Than any may advise him. It's a fact 

That though the Man may still be slave to fate, 

The Mass progresses to a better state. 

Now boys and girls, I've just a word for you: 
Above all others, to yourselves be true, 
And if the honors of success you'd earn, 
Th is is the lesson you must early learn : 

Only those irlio serve can deserve, 
And they who attain shall reign. 



THE SCHOOL AND THE MAN 

Dedication poem read at opening of the New High 
School, Saratoga'' Springs, N. Y., June 8, 1884. 

This complete building where we meet tonight, 

A better poem is than I can write. 

Simple yet graceful ; airy, but secure ; 

In plan and execution broad and pure. 

'Tis as inspiring as a poet's song, 

And who can doubt that from these halls, erelong, 

Brave men, and women too, shall be sent forth, 

AVhose useful lives shall amplify the worth 

Of mental discipline and studious ways, 

And honor God and man throughout their days. 

The best expression of the noblest art. 
Is but a drop from Nature's pulsing heart; 
Triumph of energy, with genius rife. 
Perfected product of the Tree of Life. 

All good is reproductive ; how ? or why ? 
'Tis fruit of God. Nothing divine can die. 

The power that wisest in a nation rules 
Are they who manage best the public schools. 
Development, direction— these be ways 
With good returning after many days. 
Not hindrance, punishment, nor rude restraint, 
Can purge the mind of ignorance or taint. 
Impregnate germs of moral force await 
The birth to life, and there is no rebate 
From Nature's method. Ultimates attend 
The certain progress, howe'er slow the trend. 
Of man and races toward that shoreless sea, 
Where each and all shall glory in To Be. 

56 



THE SCHOOL AND THE MAN 57 

TIappy those lands whose ruliiiii powers decree 

That education must be full and free. 

With Learning, Liberty and Thrift abide. 

These three be sailors, that may stem the tide 

Of Superstition, Error, low estate ; 

These three, as saviours, are commensurate 

To heal the tendencies to human woe. 

Forth from their bounty many blessings flow. 

The Common Schools are part of Heaven's plan 

To aid and elevate the Common Man : 

The Common Man, who drinks, and swears, and (Hiews; 

Who makes, but cares but little for, the news; 

Who factor is in every civic strife— 

A sort of temperate zone of human life. 

These worthy sons of unremitting toil. 

Who build our palaces, and till the soil ; 

Whose homes are humble and whose dress i.s plain : 

Their hands adorned with labor's jeweled stain; 

Who make, repair, and delve in mine and ditch ; 

Who have no hope nor thought of being rich ; 

Who all their faculties and powers give. 

In generous measure, for the right to live. 

The Common School evolves the Common Man ; 
And, more than any eLse who delve or plan 
In devious ways to utilize the forces 
Of earth and sky, and trace them to their sources, 
These Common Men deserve the highest place 
In all the progress of the human race. 
They honor Nature's laws. They, with faith un- 
furled, 
Help God Almighty beautify the world! 
With patient toil, and never ceasing zeal, 
They build, protect, and serve the commonweal. 
They throttle tyranny, permit the crown ; 



58 TEE SCHOOL AND THE MAN 

Restrain ambition. Reckless of renown, 

They live brave lives, from fame and fortune free, 

And, though of time, build for eternity. 

In State and Church they are of strength the source; 

The few who rise, to them must have recourse; 

In peace and war, in congress and in court. 

In trade and commerce, and the busy mart. 

Or in professions still pursued for gain — 

In every prominence that some attain — 

Or all-enduring, or but for the hour, 

The common people are the source of power. 

Cxod bless the Common Man, and keep him brave! 
Toil, he who can, the Common Man to save; 
Not from some horror of impending woe — 
Save him, as all are saved, not from, but io. 
The Common Schools are his, and from this source 
Shall he gain knowledge, virtue, wisdom, force 
To cope with Fortune, though indeed she frown ; 
To beat Despair and Discontentment down. 
He'll learn to love and serve, each one the other, 
Because each man to every man is brother; 
And that our God, who notes the sparrow's fall, 
Is common Father to each one, and all. 



ADVERTISING POEMS 

From many jingles, written as paid 
advertisements, we select a few, as speci- 
mens of what wit may do in this field. 
Names have been omitted, and occasion- 
ally other slight changes have been made. 



OYSTER VERSES 

It never is wicked to eat 

Oysters, or clams, or fish : 
And these are always a treat. 

As they make a most relishing dish. 

These innocent items of food 

'Twould seem as though Heaven had sent 
On purpose that every good 

Christian might eat them in Lent. 

The church, in making its rules 
For keeping its forty days' fast. 

In order that people shan't starve, 
Falls back on the Fish Man at la.st. 

And the oysters and fish he now sells. 

Likewise clams, are all consecrate food 
That tallies with beads and with bells. 

In helping poor sinners be good. 

Such penance is good for the soul. 
And good for digestion and health ; 

And good for the Fish Man as well. 
Since it adds to the .store of his wealth. 



THANKSGIVING came. Around the bounteous 

board 
Gathered the household. First they thanked the Lord 
For all His mercies, and the feast there spread. 
From regal turkey down to daily bread. 
And then the plates were piled with wholesome food— 

59 



60 OYSTEE VEESES 

Oysters, and chickens, tenderest of the brood, 
With lots of dainties on the bill of fare. 
Each guest was surfeit of the gracious meal, 
And beamed with pleasure, as a man might feel 
Whose well-filled stomach, readily distent, 
Had made it plain where all the dinner went. 
But e'er the banquet was entirely through 
Each dish received the compliments its due ; 
And as each guest his thankful voice did raise. 
The Fish Man's OYSTERS had the loudest praise. 



I met him on the street. 

And his step was long and fleet. 
And his eye before a king might never quail, 

And he carried in his hand, 

As you well may understand, 
A nice, new, bright, well-filled, two-quart tin pail. 

Soon again that manly tread, 

And that proudly carried head. 
Struck my ear and filled my eyes with pleased surprise ; 

And I said : ' ' Where have you been ? ' ' 

And he answered : ' ' With this tin 
Pail full of oysters up to mother's with some fries." 

With these pleasant words of cheer 

Einging still upon my ear, 
I thought of all the dishes which a man when hungry, 
eats, 

And my palate gave consent 

As I straightway homeward went 
And told my boy to get a pail of "SOLID MEATS." 

O, those Oysters ! they were nice. 
And they made a luscious feast, 



OrSTEE VERSES 61 

Sut'h as all may get enjoyment of if other folks will 
do- 
Since the means of such a bliss 
Is so simple— only this: 
Eat raw Oysters, or a fry, or broil, or better yet, a 
stew. 



After six days of pancakes. 

And sausage, pork steak, and ham. 

Of tongh beef steak, and of mutton 
As old and as strong as a ram, 

What a treat it is Sunday morning 
To hear your wife proudly say. 

With a blush in her pleasant warning — 
"'My dear, this is Oyster day." 

Now list to this word of caution : 

If you wouldn't be found in the plight 

Of having no OYSTERS for Sunday; 
Don't forget them on Saturday night. 



> OYSTER VEBSES 

THANKSGIVING AND OYSTERS 

Nation and State have both proclaimed, you see, 
That prospered folks should very thankful be, 
And with accord have set apart a day 
On which to praise the Lord, and humbly pray. 
Both powers require, and fit it is they should, 
(For plenty helps all people to be good), 
That round the board each family shall meet, 
"While kindred, souls in love each other greet. 
And taste the feast by Providence prepared, 
Out of that mercy which we all have shared. 

Earth hath no dainties in her bosom stored 
To be compared with what the Seas aflford : 
The luscious OYSTER, plump in pearly shells, 
Within her depths in fairy bowers dwells, 
And in its flavors concentrates the good 
By Epicureans only understood. 

In ocean grottoes, where old Neptune reigns, 
And graceful Sirens lure with winning strains. 
And naked Nereids please the rough god's eye, 
Like tears of joy, the luscious OYSTERS lie. 

The Fish Man knows the very choicest spot 
Where just such Oysters can be had, or got. 
And flattering Sirens 'til with joy they weep, 
Has opened commerce Avith the briny deep ; 
And now, each day, has piles of tempting shells 
In whose embrace the luscious OYSTER dwells : 
"Virginia Plants," "Blue Points," select with care. 
And other best in great abundance are, 
For daily, firkins from below he brings. 
To serve his friends in Saratoga springs. 
So go to him, be you or saint or sinner. 
And get some OYSTERS for Thanksgiving dinner. 



TROCHE VERSES 

AYhat, when the cold wind blows, 
And it rains and hails and snows, 
Will cure a Aveepintr nose? 

Troches. 

What, \vhen onr ills are told, 
And one feels like a scold. 
Will stop that comins' cold? 

Troches. 

What, when the blood is chill, 
And you are feeling- ill. 
Can give yon comfort still? 

Troches. 



If your throat begins to tickle, 
And you find you're in a pickle 
When yon want to sing a solo that will make yon wide 
renown, 

As your time to sing approaches, 
Make judicious use of troches. 
And you'll do yourself much credit, and bring honor 
to your town. 

If a man or maid would teach. 
Or a minister would preach 
In a way to make the scholars or the congregation wise. 
Just before the work's begun 
Put a troche on your tongue, 
And the scholars and the hearers will be thrilled with 
glad surprise. 

63 



64 TBOCHE VEBSES 

It was the morning of my wedding day, 

And I was practising how best to say 

"I will," in prompt response to what I knew'd be 

said ; 
Bnt snch a cold I had in my poor head ! 
i\Iy throat was hnsky and my eyes did fill. 
And I could only answer in thin voice, "I will." 

What should I do? It was my cherished prids 

To speak in stalwart tones to my fair bride. 

I thought of TROCHES. Ere the day was through 

My voice was perfect, though I took but few. 

The church was full, and every one was still : 

I almost shouted when I said, ' ' I will ! ' ' 



To cure that cold your duty 'tis, 

And stop that hacking cough; 
If you do not, consumption will 

In due time take you off. 

And then how foolish you will feel 

When one says to your wife, 
"If he'd a box of Troches used 

They would have saved his life." 

But all too late then, such advice, 
When you can't raise your head 

Because you're in your shroud laid out 
And are stick stock stone dead. 

But be advised, some Troches take 

AVhile you are yet quite well. 
The cold that you are having now 
May take you soon to hell. 
(That's what the preachers say. But how it sounds 
out of the pulpit ! ) 



TROCHE VERSES 65 

What can be more vexatious, 

More unhealthy, as a rule, 
To a delicate young lady. 

Than to teach a public school? 

From day to day the laboi- 

Of keeping children still. 
Is of its very self enough 

To make a teacher ill. 

And there be those now teaching 

In Saratoga Springs, 
To whom each day's experience 

New cause of anguish brings. 

There 's one at least shows wisdom ; 

Her throat and voice keeps pure 
By making use of Troches 

As an ever-ready cure. 

Says she, "I use them daily. 

And they save me from distress. 
Would you believe?— I keep them 

In the pocket of each dress." 



A hundred children studious in school, 
Each well disposed to violate no rule : 
The clay was warm, the windows, we are told, 
Were open wide. Each pupil took a cold. 

Next day the public would in force appear 

To see the school, and exercises hear. 

How could the teacher of her charge be proud, 

WTien half the scholars scarce could speak aloud? 



66 TEOCHE VERSES 

This teacher was the same who did confess 
That in the pockets of her every dress 
She carried Troches 'gainst the time of need, 
And now to the drug store she sent with speed. 

Soon in her hand a hundred Troches fell. 

She passed them round. Broke then the chilling spell. 

No signs of hoarseness did next day appear, 

And all her pupils spoke with voices clear. 



A summer cold is twice as bad 
As one that is in winter had. 

It takes a deeper hold and stronger. 
And hangs about the system longer. 

And too, it .should be understood 

That Troches, then, are twice as good. 

They take a deeper, firmer hold, 
When taken for a summer cold. 



POEMS OF LATER LIFE 



THE SONG OF THE POWER OF THE PRESS 

Delivered at the annual meeting of the New York Press 
Association, June, 1895. 

Who is siififieient to sing 

The Song of the Power of the Press ? 

Like a zephyr that's born in the West, 
And swelled to a gale on the sea, 

Till it sweeps with a force unrepressed, 
And chases miasmas away ; 

Like a sun that comes up from the East, 
To bless the whole world with its light. 

Ever driving earth's darkness away 
With turbulent hurry of fright ; 

So the Press, like a wind from the sea, 
Brings healing and health on its wings; 

So the Press, like a sun in the East, 
Its rays of enlightment flings. 

It has struck from the limbs of the slave 
The shackles oppression had forged ; 

And it blasts with destruction and death 
All tyrants who rule with the scourge. 

But it lifts up the lowly and poor ; 

It lightens the burden of sin ; 
Like a herald it halts at each door, 

And knocks, and is bid to come in. 
67 



68 THE SONG OF THE POWER OF THE PRESS 

So it enters the hannts of despair 
AYith dead'ning misfortunes to cope, 

And it offers the victims of wrong 
A share in the pleasures of hope. 

Though it humbles the haughty and proud; 

It lifts up the humble and poor ; 
It relaxes the hand of the strong, 

But teaches the weak to endure. 

It exhorts, and the people ai-e roused 
To flee from the dangers that lower; 

It commands, and corruption and fraud 
Grow pale in their places of power. 

Lo ! It speaks ! and the turbulent sea 
Of "Political Faction" is still; 

It affirms to the nations at large 
That all men may rise, if they will. 

Oh, who is sufficient to sing 

The Song of the Power of the Press? 



My brothers, in this world of ill and wrong 
We hold a lever, well sustained and strong, 
Not to remove a sphere from out its place — 
But greater still, to lift the human race. 
Each age is what we make it. Customs, laws, 
Opinions, platforms, if we give applause, 
Have due observance from the great and small ; 
They can not stand if we shall bid them fall. 

Creeds and traditions, bigotry and strife 
That dwarf the soul, and narrow human life 
No more have power to hold the world in awe. 



TEE SONG OF THE POWEE OF THE PRESS (iSt 

Since Christ's bless 'd Gospel is our "hiiiher law" 
No more can bigots make church creeds to stand 
In place of power at the Lord's rierht hand. 
Nor superstition weave its subtle spell 
To dwarf the man by fright 'ning him with Hell. 

If we may aid, my brothers of the Press, 

To lift the lowly, and the world to bless, 

We'll seek for neither wealth, nor power, nor fame; 

These are but shadows that pursue the name 

Of him who serves with ever patient zeal 

To consummate the world's great common weal. 

This be our aim, as makers of the Press: 

To aid the right, and every wrong redress. 

Our glory this: a Nation wise and free. 

Our motto: Faith in Gof! in Man, and Liberty. 



LENTEN CONSOLATIONS 

Oh, weary soul, trust God. 

When other trust in vain 
There's comfort in His rod. 

There's profit in its pain. 

Oh, weary heart, trust God. 

His faithfuhiess wouldst prove? 
The paths in which Christ trod 

Were sacrifice and love. 

Oh, weary hands, trust God, 
E'en though ye find no rest. 

Whoso His hands but touched 

Were healed and cheered and blessed. 

Oh, weary feet, trust God. 

Though rough and steep it be 
Along life's toilsome road. 

His footsteps you may see. 

Oh, weary eyes, trust God. 

The beauty now concealed— 
Save but for faith and hope— 

Erelong will be revealed. 

Yes, weary soul, trust God. 

When earth's dull sense is riven, 
Will thrill upon the ear 

The harmonies of heaven. 



70 




SAB AH E. DENTON PEASE 



TO HER PORTRAIT 

Portrait, hansrinsr on the wall, 

Looking calmly from thy frame, 

Mattered not what might befall, 
Thon wa.st constantly the same. 

Uncomplaining, free from strife, 
Patient, faithful, worthy Avife ; 

Splendid woman, wisely planned 
To love, encourage, and withstand. 

Never from thy lips a word 

Of censure or complaint Avas heard; 
Now their silence seems to chide 

All my folly, all my pride. 

As I gaze on thee the while 

In memory I see the smile. 
And words I hear, that soothe the smart, 

And stay the sentence of my heart. 

Memory, like a speeding whip. 
Brings thy maiden features nigh ; 

When the red was in thy lip. 
And the love-light in thine eye. 

That other, greater artist. Time, 
Limned thy features into grace ; 

Ea.sy then for sun to place 
Light of soul upon thy face. 
71 



72 TO HEE POBTEAIT 

Sweet of temper and serene, 

As in life I oft have seen, 
Prom discontent and worry free. 

Teaching me tranqnility. 

Fame nor folly, loss nor treasure, 
Joy nor sorrow, pain nor pleasure, 

Years, nor grave, nor death can smother 
Loving thoughts of thee, dear "Mother." 



AT FOURSCORE YEARS 

Sept. 27, 1828— Sept. 27, 1908 

To me the years have gentler grown, 
And time more gracious now appears, 

As here I sit and mnse alone 
At fourscore years. 

The best of living is the last, 

And life grows sweetest at its close ; 

For something richer than the past 
These days disclose. 

No mourning now the silvered hair, 
The body's slowly waning power, 

As here I wait, and calmly dare 
Earth's final hour. 

Those dreams of honor or of gain, 

Of wreaths and crowns to grace the brow, 

That stirred to action — none remain 
To stir me now. 

The tossing life, the hope and fear, 
The strife, the pain of earlier days— 

On these, all past, I look with clear, 
Unshrinking gaze. 

The toil is past — count not the cost- 
Forgotten are the tears once shed : 

Bright are the memories of the lost— 
The precious dead. 

7i 



74 AT FOUE SCORE ¥EAES 

Alone, yet not alone, I stand ; 

Around, within, a power divine 
Is present, and a heavenly hand 

Is touching mine. 

Strange glories gild the closing day, 
And one bright star, from out the west, 

Allures, with tender light, away 
From work to rest. 

Soft voices, which amid the din 
Of outward life, I could not hear, 

Are gently whispering within 
Their words of cheer. 

So, welcome is each flying year, 
And welcome is this silent bliss; 

Nor aught the noisy world can hear 
Compares with this. 

Old fourscore friends, now on the slope 
Of life, cast far away all fears. 

And grasp with me the larger hope 
Of eighty years. 



A BRIEF SKETCH 

OF THE 

LIFE OF ALBERT S. PEASE 



WRITTEN FOR THE MOST PART 
BY HIMSELF 



ALBERT S. PEASE 
September 27. 1828-May 25, 1914 

Albert S. Pease, the subject of this sketch, and the 
author of the accompanying: poems, was born at Pough- 
keepsie, Dutcliess Co., N. Y., September 27, 1828. His 
father, Du(lk\y S. Pease, of Poujjhkeepsie, born at 
Norfolk, Ct., was the son of Nathaniel, the son of 
Nathaniel, the son of Samuel, the son of Robert, the 
son of John, the son of Robert Pease of Great Baddow, 
County of Essex, Englaud, who came to America in 
16.34, landing at Boston in April of that year. 

His mother was Sarah Killey, probably of Quaker 
Hill, N. Y. She was the daughter of Samuel W. 
Killey, whose remains rest .in an old family burial 
grouud near what are known as Baker '.s corners, about 
a mile west of the old Friends' Meeting House, on 
Quaker Hill. Her father Samuel W, was a son of 
Wing Killey, who is enrolled in the records of tlie 
Oblong and Nine Partners Meetings among the "Heads 
of Families" on Quaker Hill in 1759. Wing was the 
son of Seth, the son of Jeremiah, the son of David 
O'Killia, who lived on Cape Cod, being enrolled at 
Yarmouth, Mass., in 1657, and dying at Sandwich in 
1697. Wing's mother was Mehitabel AVing, and his 
wife was Deborah Ferris. 

Of himself Albert S. Pease wrote: "My schooling 
was very limited. The first school that I attended was 
kept by a Mrs. Roby ; that was when I was a boy six 
years old. Afterward I went to the 'Lancaster 
School,' where each scholar was required to pay a 
penny a day. This school, located on Church street, 
was taugiit by a Mr. Backus, who was succeeded by 
Thomas M. Brewer. Later I attended other private 

7.5 



76 ALBERT S. PEASE 

schools and was taught by the following teachers: 
Mr. Anthony, Mr, McGeorge, Mr. Dusenbury, and 
Mr. James Hyatt, who was my cousin. For a time I 
attended a public school — the first in Poughkeepsie — 
taught by a Mr. Underbill. 

"When not at school, and during vacations, I 
worked — worked at anything I could find to do. I 
stripped tobacco for a Mr. Coldstream ; primed signs 
for William Shields; worked in a wall paper factory 
on Water street ; ' pricked tile ' in Matthew Vassar 's 
brewery ; closed uppers and fitted boots on the shoe 
bench with my father. In the office of the Telegraph 
and the Family Magazine, published by Egbert B. 
Killey and Benson J. Lossing, I folded papers and 
carried routes for the Telegram, and sold and dis- 
tributed to subscribers monthly copies of the Family 
Magazine and of The Casket, a little monthly which 
was also printed at the Telegraph office. For a time 
I 'tended store' for my father, who made a brief 
venture in the grocery business. When not other- 
wise employed, I was 'doing errands' generally, pick- 
ing and selling 'greens,' raspberries, and blackberri'^ :, 
and gathering and selling 'mint' at 6d a bunch to 
the Mansion House, a hotel and summer resort on 
'Mansion Square,' kept by George Washington Davids. 
I also peddled from a basket on my arm, candies, 
cakes, nuts, apples, and other edibles on circus days, 
and during conventions, 'three days training' and 
'general muster.' My last employment as a young 
boy was in the shoe store of my brother, Edwin, where 
I served for nearly two years. 

"I did not attend school after I was fourteen 
years old ; but I was ever studying by myself, and 
reading books. For this habit I feel that I was 
largely indebted to my mother and to my sister, 
Margaret. 



ALBERT S. PEASE 77 

"My mother's desire and my own as a boy, was 
that I might learn the trade of a printer. I found my 
position through an accident. Gabriel North and 
Charles xVrmstroug, with two young women, while 
sailing on the Hudson river one evening in a small 
boat, were run down by a steam-boat, and the whole 
party was drowned. Through this accidental death 
of North a vacancy was caused in the working forces 
of the Foughkeepsie 'Telegraph, which was owned and 
edited by Egbert B. Killey, with Samuel M. Shaw as 
foreman and assistant editor. I was selected to fill 
this vacancy and on the 27th of September. 1844, my 
sixteenth birthday, I became a 'bound' apprentice to 
the printing business. I was 'indentured' for a five 
years apprenticeship. My pay for the whole term 
was to be $30 a year and board with my employer. 
If I chose to board at home with my parents I was to 
be allowed $2 a week extra. Needless to say I boarded 
at home. In the agreement there was a proviso that 
if for any cause I left, or was discharged from my 
unfulfilled apprenticeship, I thereby forfeited the 
pay for my first year, $30 ; but if I completed my 
apprenticeship 'worthily and acceptably,' my pay for 
the last year should be $60, to make good for the fact 
that the pay for the first year was held back until 
that time as a bond or guarantee. I completed the 
apprenticeship. 

"About 1848 Mr. Shaw left the Telegraph office 
to become associated with Edwin Croswell in the pub- 
lication of the Albany Argus, and I was promoted 
to the position which he vacated — foreman and as- 
sistant editor. I continued to hold this position till 
the expiration of my apprenticeship, Sept. 27, 1849, 
but with no increase in my pay until that date, when 
I was advanced to a salary of $1.25 a day. At that 
time the regular wage of a journeyman printer was a 



78 ALBERT S. PEASE 

dollar a day. After this, during much of the time, 
I also edited the paper and had sole and general 
charge of the business. 

"After two years, in Feb., 1851, I gave Mr. Killey 
notice of my intention of leaving him and looking 
elsewhere for a more remunerative and promising 
position. Then was realized my ambition and long 
cherished purpose, for I had been taught by my 
mother to make myself if possible so useful and valu- 
able to my employer that he should come to feel that 
he could not do without me. Mr. Killey offered me 
a partnership in the business, which I accepted. He 
sold me a one-fourth interest for $2,000. As I had 
no money of my o^vn, my most excellent and kindly 
brother, Edwin, loaned me $1,000 on my note and Mr. 
Killey took a chattel mortgage on my share for the 
remainder. At this time, at my suggestion, Mr. 
Edward K. Olmstead, who had been my fellow ap- 
prentice in the office, was also admitted as a partner, 
with a one-fourth interest. For a year thereafter the 
business was conducted under the firm name of 'E. B. 
Killey & Co., E. B. Killey, A. S. Pease & E. K. 
Olmstead, Proprietors.' At the end of the first year 
of this partnership I paid off from my share in the 
profits of the business the mortgage which Mr. Killey 
held against me. Mr. Olmstead was then permitted 
to retire and the one-fourth interest which he held 
was transferred to me for $2,000. Mr. Killey and I 
were now equal partners ; but only two weeks after 
this partnership went into effect, Mr. Killey died. I 
continued to conduct the business in connection with 
his 'estate' for the next six years, and then I sold 
— foolishly sold — my interest to Geo. P, Pelton & Co. 



ALBEBT S. PEASE 79 

KKLKilOl S DKVEl.orMENT 

"In March, 184-1:, I united with the Central Baptist 
Church, of which the Rev. Charles Van Loon was then 
the very much beloved pastor. For some time I was 
a pupil, after which I became a teacher in the Sab- 
bath school. Subsequently for eight years I was 
superintendent of the school. I also became a trustee 
of the church and was made clerk of the board. Dur- 
ing all of my church connection I was active in 're- 
ligious work.' I formed and taught a Sunday school 
in the county poor house and another in the county 
jail. I also organized and taught in an unsectarian 
]Missiou Sunday school which met in 'The ]\Iillerite 
Building' on Union street. This school grew until 
it had from 400 to 600 scholars and was the means of 
accomplishing much good in the section known as 
the 'Five Points' in Poughkeepsie. After about two 
years, at the earnest solicitation of Bishop Elijah 
Hedding, I turned this school over to the care and 
keeping of the Methodist Episcopal Church, the 
bishop promising to maintain it, with the object of 
making it the nucleus of a church to be named after 
him as a monument to his memory. All this was 
finally done, the result being 'The Hedding Methodist 
Church' on Clover street, still existing (1903). 

"Later, on the advice of Rev. Rufus Babcock, 
D. D., I purposed to become a minister in the Baptist 
Denomination, and to that end I studied under his 
tuition for about six months. Meantime I preached 
a few times in Dr. Babcock's church in Paterson, 
N. J., and in a few other churches. I also preached 
several times at Sing Sing prison, both to the men 
and to the women convicts, at the request of the 
chaplain. Rev. Mr. Luckey. But as I could not bring 
myself to accept and be bound by the Calvinistic 



80 ALBERT S. PEASE 

creed, which was then much more rigidly adhered 
to than it is now, I abandoned all thought of the 
ministry. 

POST MASTER OF POUGHKEEPSIE 

''Jacob Van Benthuysen, post master of Pough- 
keepsie under President James K. Polk, died in 1846. 
My employer, E. B. Killey, was appointed to succeed 
him, and soon afterward I was called upon to divide 
my time and services between the printing office and 
the post office. It was part of my work to open the 
post office in the morning, sweep out, and keep things 
tidy. It was also a part of my work to help assort 
and make up the mails and to 'wait on delivery.' 
This was before the railroads had begun to meet the 
demands of the government as mail carriers. The 
mail came by coach from New York or Albany, the 
horses dashing up to the door on the gallop, and in 
frosty weather steaming and panting as the load was 
removed. To see the mail come in in those days was 
a pleasant sight. 

"My work at the post office continued for two 
years, or until Mr. Killey 's term of office expired. He 
was succeeded by Isaac Piatt, of the Eagle newspaper. 

' ' In May, 1852, I attended the Democratic National 
Convention, held in Baltimore, Md., at which Franklin 
Pierce was nominated for president of the United 
States. He was elected, and in May, 1853, I was 
appointed by President Pierce, post master of the 
city of Poughkeepsie. I held the position until July 
1, 1857, when I was succeeded by George P. Pelton. 

HOME ESTABLISHED 

"Some years before this, on June 25, 1851, I was 
married to Miss Sarah Elizabeth Denton, daughter of 
Benjamin Denton, of Poughkeepsie. She was sixteen 



ALBERT S. PEASE 81 

years of ape at the time and I was in my twenty-third 
year. While serving as post master I built a home, 
a briek house, on a fine lot on Mill street. Here we 
set up housekeeping, and I took great delight in 
beautifying the place and making it suited to my 
family which by that time consisted of my wife and 
two children. Three other children were born to us 
here. The lot on which this house stood is now 
occupied by the parsonage of the Mill Street Baptist 
church and a part of the walls of the old house were 
incorporated into the walls of the parsonage. In 
1864 I sold this place to Dr. Clark. 

FINANCIAL VENTURES 

''In 1857 I purchased an interest in the banking 
house of Tallman, Powers & McLean, in Davenport, 
Iowa. The money thus invested, and much more, was 
lost. I also paid several thousand dollars for 160 
acres of land at Fulton City. This, too, was a total 
loss. This, doubtless, was largely due to my own 
indifference and neglect, as I did not trouble to have 
a .search for title made, knew nothing of the real value 
of the land and never even took pains to see it. I 
was very 'green' in those days. Money came easily, 
but I did not know how to invest it wisely, nor what 
to do with it other than to spend lavishly and live 
extravagantly. I 'reckoned' that money and good 
fortune would continue to flow in upon me in in- 
creasingly copious streams. But I was soon to learn 
otherwise. Had I lived more economically and known 
how to make safe investment of my money I might 
have 'laid up much goods for many days.' 

"In the fall of 1857 I let our pretty home on Mill 
street for six months and went with my wife and 
three children, Eva, Irving, and Charles, to Daven- 
port, Iowa, where my wife's father, Benjamin Denton, 



82 ALBERT S. PEASE 

had bought and was rnnnino: a hotel. I purposed to 
spend the winter there and perhaps to engage in 
business. But on the 12th of November, 1857, our 
beautiful little boy, Albert Irving, died suddenly of 
membranous croup. He was two years and ten 
months old. We returned to Poughkeepsie with his 
body, and it was buried in the cemetery there. Hav- 
ing returned, it seemed best to remain in Poughkeepsie 
and we boarded all winter with my ever excellent 
brother, Edwin, until we could again have possession 
of our home, May 1, 1858." 

xVDMITTED TO PRACTICE OF LAW 

"In December of 1857 I became a student in the 
'State and National Law School,' then located in 
Poughkeepsie, of which John W. Fowler was president 
and Matthew Hale one of the professors. At the end 
of a year I was graduated L. B. Subsequently, with 
a few other students, I went to Brooklyn, and at a 
general term of the Supreme Court, then being held 
there, after rigid examination, I was admitted to 
practice in all the courts of the State of New York. 
This was on Nov. 12, 1858. The examiners were 
Supreme Court Judge James Emmett, of Pough- 
keepsie, and County and City Judges Greenwood and 
Culver. Chauncey M. Depew was admitted at the 
same examination. I took this course simply as a 
matter of education, having no purpose of following 
the law as a profession. 

''In December, 1858, having previously sold the 
Poughkeepsie Telegraph, I bought of Nichols and 
Bush, The Poughkeepsie Daily Press newspaper and 
printing plant and re-engaged in the printing busi- 
ness. I successfully conducted this business until 
the summer of 1861, when by reason of the compli- 
cations and losses attendant upon my western specu- 



ALBERT S. PEASE 83 

lative ventures, I was forced into an assignment. 
But there was no loss to any creditor by reason of 
this protective means of relief." 

It was during the years from 1856 to 1860 that 
some of the best of the accompanying poems were 
written, and these were among the most prolific years 
of the life of Albert S. Pease. While in the Law 
School he wrote "The Coming Man," and during 
this period also he produced his tribute to Prof. Morse. 

HARD HIT BY THE CIVIL WAR 

"An ardent Democrat always, on the outbreak of 
the Civil War, in September, 1861, I enlisted in the 
29th regiment, N. Y. State Militia, Col. Geo. W. Pratt 
commanding, and 'went to be a soldier.' On October 
18, 1861, I was commissioned a lieutenant of Company 
E, in the regiment which afterward was known as 
the 80th N. Y. Volunteers. ]\Iy captain was Rev. 
Pelatia Ward and my associate lieutenant Edgar T. 
Dudley. Before departing for the front I left my 
business in charge of two young men who were in my 
employ, one of them my 'local' and book keeper, 
and the other my foreman in the mechanical depart- 
ment. Placing full confidence in these young men I 
made an agreement with them by which they were 
to continue the business in my name, to take good 
care of it, to have what they could make while I was 
in the army, and to deliver the business in good con- 
dition to me on my return, or to my heirs in case of 
my death. These trusted men disappointed and 
deceived me. I had not been long away when they 
began to plot for a new plant and paper, to the utter 
neglect of all my interests. Learning of their plans 
through my brother, I secured a ten days' furlough 
and went home. I found matters even worse than I 
had feared. My trusted employees had started a new 



84 ALBERT S. PEASE 

paper, 21ie Fouglikeepsian, and were substituting it 
for my Daily and Weekly Press, thus utterly robbing 
my plant of all value. At the end of my furlough I 
retiirned to my regiment, then in Virginia, and laid 
my ease before Col. Pratt. After due consideration, 
he advised me to resign my commission, go home, and 
save what I could. This I reluctantly did, December 
24, 1861, after having served a little more than two 
months. Arrived home, I regained possession of my 
printing office and resumed the management of the 
business, which I restored to popular favor and good 
footing. ' ' 

BUSINESS IN TROY, AND HOME AT BUSKIRKS 

"In August, 1863, at the earnest solicitation of 
prominent Democrats of Troy, N. Y., I moved my 
printing materials to that city and founded there the 
Troy Daily and Weekly Press." About a year later, 
while speaking during an election campaign, Albert 
S. Pease was entertained as a guest in the home of 
Mr. Franklin Waters, at Buskirks, N. Y., on what was 
known as the Lansing Place. It was just what he was 
looking for, and after a short parley, he purchased the 
spacious old house, many farm buildings, and twenty- 
five acres of land. On the 8th day of November, elec- 
tion day, 1864, he moved his family, which then con- 
sisted of his wife and four children, to the new place, 
which from that time on became the family home. 

Presided over with grace, dignity, and great effi- 
ciency by the wife and mother, it was indeed a home, 
loved by the children and much sought by all who 
were fortunate enough to receive the proffer of its 
hospitality. Here he afforded his children every 
advantage of a free life in the open country and 
granted them many educational advantages only to 
be had at large personal expense. 



ALBERT S. PEASE 85 

It was his practice to extend liberal hospitality. 
The honse at Buskirks lOs built on a large scale and ^fo^^ 
the hospitality practised was proportionate. Travel- 
ing daily to and from his business in Troy, he seldom 
allowed a week end to go by without bringing home 
a guest or two for the Sabbath. Sometimes these were 
almost entire strangers, people whom he had met in 
the course of the day's busine.ss or social intercourse, 
or perhaps persons w^hom he had sought out in the 
crowd at the station, for he had a most delightful 
way of making agreeable approach to such strangers 
as took his fancy, and his confidence was seldom mis- 
placed. Never a tramp along the highway applied 
there in vain for food or shelter, and more than once 
a whole family tramping from poverty at one point 
to poverty at some other, found there protecting 
shelter and nourishing food. 

The home at Buskirks also became a rendezvous 
for the family relatives on both sides, and the life 
was one constant round of delightful experiences. 
Frequently the doors were opened to the people of 
the surrounding country side. Twice Mr. Pease in- 
vited from Troy the then famous Sullivan's Brass 
Band, for free open air concerts, and several times 
he extended cordial invitation to all to enjoy an 
abundant display of Fourth of July fire works. 

He stocked the little farm with every thing that 
was going, and he ran it with slight regard to expense 
of upkeep, making it his play thing or fad. He was 
not trained to farming and had little knowledge of 
its practical side. A w-ell-tilled garden, with an 
abundance of fresh vegetables, fruits and berries; a 
herd sufficient to afford plenty of milk, cream, and 
butter ; a good team of horses for driving about Avith 
his family and his friends ; a corps of helpers suffi- 
cient to carry out his desires; happy surroundings for 



86 ALBERT S. PEASE 

his wife and children, and for his friends and guests 
—these were his delight. It was a charming life while 
it lasted, and all who were so fortunate as to partici- 
pate in it hark back to those first years of his owner- 
ship of the farm at Buskirks with keen pleasure. 

After a few years the great house was burned to 
the ground. It was succeeded by a modest little cot- 
tage, sufficient to the needs of his family. Meanwhile, 
the wife and children found refuge in West Troy and 
in Troy, until the Buskirks home was again available. 
Twice more fire played havoc with the home, but 
finally in 1895, after patient labor and sharp economy, 
a home was completed which still stands. 

In 1868 the burden of his business began to bear 
heavily upon him, and hoping to find more leisure to 
enjoy his home and family, he sold the subscription 
list, but none of the material, of the Troy Daily Press. 
to T. B. Carroll, L. W. McArthur, and George Demers, 
and continued the publication of the Weekly Press, 
and his job-printing business in Troy. 

To resume his own somewhat abbreviated manu- 
script: ''In 1869 I sold the Troy Weekly Press, but 
at the end of a year, because of the financial embar- 
rassments of the purchaser, I was compelled to take 
over the business. 

"About this time, at the urgent request of prom- 
inent men and Democrats of Saratoga county, N. Y., 
I moved my printing materials to Saratoga Springs, 
and on August 27, 1870, issued the first number of 
The Saratoga Sun." For a time the work on the 
paper was done at the Troy office. During that 
period the rear of the store leased for the Saratoga 
office was sub-let to the parties who were then exploit- 
ing the public by what was supposed to be a rare find, 
but which afterward proved to be a great fake — the 
Cardiff Giant. People would pay half a dollar for 



ALBERT S. PEASE 87 

the privilege of passing througli the curtain that they 
might gaze on that soil-stained and naked mammoth 
image of a reclining man. One woman in particular 
became obsessed by it, brought numerous friends with 
her to wonder at it, and persisted in pronouncing it 
"the most perfect piece of putrefaction she had ever 
seen." 

From now on, for several years the family home 
at Buskirks wa.s occupied only during the summer, 
the winter seeing the family comfortably sheltered in 
a rented house in Saratoga Springs. Here the chil- 
dren attended the grammar and high schools in suc- 
cession, and entered upon the social delights which 
usually mark the period of the later 'teens. Now 
music and literature became strong influences in the 
home, and religion and religious influences were al- 
ways present there. 

It was during the years in Saratoga that the sub- 
ject of this sketch was selected to prepare and read 
a poem before the New York State Press Association. 
During this period also, he and his wife traveled with 
the Press Association on an extended tour through 
the Southern states, and he was one of the mueh- 
called-upon orators of the party, responding to ad- 
dresses of welcome in several southern cities. 

Reverting again to his own records, we read: 
"Near the close of 1882, again hastily, I sold my 
business in Saratoga to E. P. Howe, and from that 
time on lived for the most part at the family home 
at Buskirks, though for several years our winters 
were still passed in Saratoga Springs." During these 
years the family was breaking up, the children hav- 
ing grown, and one after another left the home sur- 
roundings to take up work in the larger circles of the 
world. 

"The sale of my business in Saratoga marked the 



88 ALBERT S. PEASE 

end of my newspaper ownership, bnt not the last of 
my work as a journalist. For several years I was 
accredited correspondent of the New York Sun and 
New York Herald; the Albany Evening Journal; the 
Troy Daily Times and the Troy Daily Press; the Union 
and the Saratogian, in Saratoga ; the Democrat, in 
Hoosick Palls; the Era, the Gazette and the Leader, 
at Baldwinsville, N. Y., and the American Press 
Association, of New York. 

POLITICAL LIFE 

"On principle I have always been affiliated with 
the Democratic party, and for many years was called 
upon from time to time to champion its policies and 
its candidates on the stump. I served from time to 
time on committees, often as chairman, and was a 
delegate to conventions through all the long line from 
county to congressional and state. I was twice nom- 
inated by my party to represent it in the state legis- 
lature, but was not elected. 

"During my career as a journalist and politician, 
I naturally came into more or less intimate associa- 
tion with many prominent men and women of nearly 
every occupation. Many such were my long-time 
acquaintances and familiar friends. 

"On January 21, 1896, at the home at Buskirks, 
my wife, the mother of our five children, died. Her 
body was placed in the family plot in the Pough- 
keepsie cemetery. 

"On June 30, 1897, I was married to Miss Sophie 
E. June, of Baldwinsville, N. Y." Soon thereafter 
Mr. Pease took up his residence in the home of his 
wife, where he lived quietly, surrounded by modest 
home comforts, and ministered to with loving regard, 
until the day of his death, May 25, 1914. It was dur- 
ing this period that he penned the greater part of 




SOPHIE JUNE PEASE 



ALBERT S. PEASE 89 

this sketch, closing his narrative as follows: "What 
I have here written is, of course, a mere epitome of 
my life, dates of arrivals and departures. All the 
incidents of the voyage it were impossible to include 
in tliis condensed sketch. An open hand and a hos- 
pitable home have been my life habit, and now at 
Baldwinsville, N. Y., August 17, 1903, I can but feel 
that all the experiences which have filled my years 
have been 'for the best,' necessary to the largest 
growth and fullest development of my real self, my 
soul. Perhaps I may have had too much sentiment 
for advantageous practical results, but it has given 
much pleasure and satisfaction, and I feel now that 
it has been better so. Better to have and lose than 
never to have. Mine has indeed been a full, broad, 
deep experience of life ; of participation in its virtues 
and in its vices ; in its pleasures and in its pains ; in 
its ups and in its downs; in its merits and in its 
demerits; in its sins and in its sufferings; in its 
wrongs and in its regrets. I have been simply, but 
very Jtuman. I have lived. I am still living, at the 
age of seventy-five years ; with full mental vigor and 
with slight bodily impairment ; still capable of great 
endurance and of much physical pleasure." 



PRESS NOTICES 

Troy Times 
A VETERAN EDITOR 

A. S. Pease, who died at Baldwinsville, N. Y., 
yesterday, was for a long- time prominent in news- 
paper work in this vicinity. In the days when the 
line of demarcation between the Republican and 
Democratic parties was very sharply defined, and 
when there was no quarter given or taken on either 
side, Mr. Pease was a militant Democrat, and as a 
journalist provided his share of hot shot. While an 
earnest and unflinching antagonist in public life, in 
private acquaintance he was a most genial and com- 
panionable ma:n, with a wide range of information 
and with individual and freely expressed views on 
social and religious as well as political matters. Mr. 
Pease during his retiring years lived for most of the 
time at Buskirk in this county, and during his resi- 
dence there the Troy Times had the opportunity to 
print some interesting communications, both prose 
and poetical, on general affairs from his facile pen. 

Troy Observer 

The death of Albert S. Pease, the founder of the 
Troy Press in 1863, removes the last of Troy's jour- 
nalistic "Old Guard" that made Troy famous in the 
days "that tried men's souls." during the Civil War 
period. Troy's galaxy of journalists in those days 
contained men of courage, brains and originality ; men 
who were outspoken in their criticisms of right and 
wrong; men who did not conduct their editorial col- 

91 



92 PEESS NOTICES 

umns under instructions from the counting room, but 
directed their editorial thought on what they deemed 
was just and proper in the treatment of public ques- 
tions. Mr. Pease was a ready writer, a fluent talker, 
and withal a man who readily gained prominence in 
the public eye. He was one of the old school of news- 
paper men that have passed away to make room for a 
class whose columns are controlled absolutely from a 
commercial standpoint, the public welfare being a 
secondary consideration. He was a man who possessed 
those attributes that made him a welcome guest in any 
circle and it is with keen regret we chronicle the fact 
that he has passed away. 



GENEALOGY 



GENEALOGY 

From the marriage of Albert S. Pease to Sarah 
Elizabeth Denton the following are sprung: 

I. Sarah Eva Pease, b. Poughkeepsie, Feb. 28, 
1853. m. June 15, 1883, Rev. John Henry 
Mueller, of Swiss birth, U. S. citizenship. 
Settled, Ellsworth, Ct., Sheffield, Mass., 
Bloomington, 111., where she died June 23, 
1901. Buried in cemetery at Buskirks. 

Children : 

1. John Howaid Mueller, b. June 13, 

1891, at Sheffield, Mass. B. S., 
W&sleyan College, Bloomington, 
111. ; M. S., University of Louis- 
ville, Ky., Graduate scholarship 
and instructor at College of P. & S,. 
Columbia University, New York, 
1915. 

2. Albert Felix Mueller, b. Sheffield, 

Mass., July 19, 1892. m. Leta 
Maud Best, dtr of Dr. and Mrs. 
E. H. Best, of Freeport, lU., Sept. 
3, 1913. Resides Bloomington, 111., 
1915. 

II. Albert Irving Pease, b. Jan. 1855. d. Nov. 
12, 1857. Buried Poughkeepsie cemetery. 

III. Charles Benjamin Franklin Pease, b. Pough- 
keepsie, Sept. 18, 1857. A. B. Williams 
College, 1886. B. D., Yale, 1889. Pastor- 
ates at Ashfield, Mass., West Troy, N. Y., 

93 



94 GENEALOGY 

Pla/tsville, Ct., Quaker Hill, N. Y. m. Dee. 
27, 1888, Mary Jessie Cole, dtr of Harvey T. 
and Caroline Waterman-Cole, of Williams- 
town, Mass. 
Children : 

1. Dorothy Pease, b. Ashfield, Mass., 

Mch.' 29, 1890. B. A., Smith Col- 
lege, 1911. Teacher in New Haven, 
Ct., High School, 1915. 

2. Theodore Mitchell Pease, b. Ash- 

field, Mass., Jan. 27, 1892. B. A., 
Yale, 1914. Teacher, Loomis In- 
stitute, Windsor, Ct. 

3. Marjorie Pease, b. West Troy, N. 

Y., April 28, 1894. Smith Col- 
lege, class 1916. 

4. Koger Waterman Pease, b. Ashfield, 

Mass., Aug. 2, 1898. Attending 
New Haven, Ct., High School, 1915. 

IV. Mary Ida Pease, b. Poughkeepsie, N. Y., Dec. 
22, 1859. Graduate, Saratoga Springs High 
School, m. Albert Whiteside, South Cam- 
bridge, N. Y., Sept. 26, 1881. d. Jan. 17, 
1883. Buried, cemetery at Whiteside Church, 
South Cambridge, N. Y. 

Children : 

Twin girls, b. Buskirks, N. Y., Jan. 16, 
1883. One of the twins died. The 
other, Ida Pease Whiteside. A. B., 
Vassar, 1904. A. M.,Vassar, 1906. As- 
sistant at Whit in Observatory, Welles- 
ley College, Mass., 1907-1910. Mis- 
sionary under U. P. church Missionary 
Board, in Egypt, Africa. 



GENEALOGY 95 

V. Nellie MeClellan Pease, b. Poughkeepsie, N. 
Y., Jan. 8, 1862. Graduate, Saratoga Springs 
High School, m. Albert Whiteside, South 
Cambridge, N. Y., Jan. 1, 1885. Resides, 
1915, at Whiteside Acres, South Cambridge, 
N. Y. 

Children : 

1. Henrj' Edward Whiteside, b. South 

Cambridge, N. Y., January 21, 
1888. Took four interrupted years 
at Union College, m. Rosalie 
Mary Thieringer, dtr of Charles 
and Mary Vossler-Thieringer, of 
Bayonne, N. J., Dec. 6, 1911. Re- 
sides in Whiteside Homestead, 
South Cambridge, N. Y., 1915. 

2. John Charles Whiteside, b. Aug. 19. 

1893. 2 years at Cornell Agricul- 
tural College, m. Gladys Durfee 
Hoag, dtr of Shandanette and 
Minnie Durfee-Hoag, of Greenwich, 
N. Y., Dec. 23, 1913. Resides 
Whiteside Acres, South Cambridge, 
N. Y. 



HK227-78 







^^^'i,'^^ 



^"^ 







^^ o 



• .^^ 








,Hq. 









V ^ * ° " ° A" 




^0 '"^x 











. <S. c, " " " •» '<*^^ 



^^-n^. 















a ^-ri^^wl.j* 



./% 
















'^^ A 






o -o..» A. <. '..«' .0 ^ "•' ^\^ 



"oV" 









c° /• 



0^ 



'b V 



/^;:i 



•v^-^^ 



.0- 









^^-^^^ 










^ v^ ."if 














^^ . 






^ li 



